


Carving Means Caring

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Autumn Fluff, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Pre-Relationship, Pumpkins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26976595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: Albus goes for a stroll, perfectly content with watching the leaves fall and crunching them underfoot, when he bumps into Lysander Scamander.What follows is an afternoon of flirting, pumpkin guts, and terrible leather trousers.
Relationships: Albus Severus Potter/Lysander Scamander
Comments: 16
Kudos: 24





	Carving Means Caring

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I know this ship is more of a dinghy, but I am its self-proclaimed captain and I am welcoming you on board. Please join me! 
> 
> Rated T for Suggestive Language and Mild Sexual Themes (just to be on the safe side).

The road between Albus’s flat and the park was lined with trees. This early into Autumn, they were still heavy with golden leaves, thick and full, obscuring the cold sky. Every now and again, a few would break away from their branches and drift down in herds, skittering along the path. He made sure to step on every crisp, withered leaf he could find, listening to the satisfying crunch beneath his trainers. 

But for the most part, he kept his eyes trained on the sky, watching the leaves fall. 

It was why he didn't notice Lysander Scamander until he bumped into him, nose-first.

“Careful there, baby Potter.” Lysander steadied him, wrapping an arm around his bicep to keep him from falling. “Unless you want me to patch you up.”

Albus stood, arrested, in the middle of the path for a solid five seconds before he finally got a grip on himself. He shrugged off Lysander’s hand and stood up straight, brushing invisible lint from his jumper. 

“You’re a Healer,” Albus said, scowling. “Patching people up is your job, so try not to make it sound like such a threat.”

“Did I make it sound like a threat? I meant it to sound like a dirty promise.” Lysander tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers, shrugging guilelessly. “Sue me, it’s been a while. I guess I’m a little rusty.”

But Albus was too busy staring to start the process of suing him, because Lysander wasn’t just wearing trousers. He was wearing _leather_ trousers. Black, shiny leather trousers. 

“You look ridiculous,” Albus said bluntly. 

Lysander grinned. It was his usual sly, lazy grin that stretched a million miles but somehow only showed a hint of teeth. A Cheshire Cat grin. There was always a suggestive element to it, and it flustered Albus to the core no matter what he was doing, or why he was smiling. 

“What are you doing out here, baby Potter?”

“Stop calling me that,” Albus snapped. “I finished work and I… I came for a walk, that’s all.”

He neglected to mention that he came for a stroll because he wanted to look at the falling leaves, and maybe get a coffee and sit in the park and watch the leaves some more, just to really feel the cosy autumn feeling he’d been craving for months. That was practically handing himself over on a silver platter, with mockery as the main course. Lysander was never cruel, but he wasn’t afraid to smile that lazy grin and tease Albus to the point of spontaneous combustion. It was actually one of his favourite pastimes. 

“That’s a nice coincidence,” Lysander said, stepping close enough to take hold of his wrist, firm and to the point. “I’m not on-call today. Nothing wrong with a walk, but I think we can make the afternoon a bit more _fun,_ don't you?”

Albus leaned back slightly, but didn't shake off his touch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The shrug he received was so elegant and slow that it almost bordered on insolence. 

“How am I supposed to know that I can trust you?” Albus said, though he had already resigned himself to his fate. “The last time you dragged me off somewhere without supervision, I ended up with a tattoo, and you Apparated us back to your flat and landed on Lorcan’s head. He almost killed you, and then me just because I was there. Do you really want to risk that kind of wrath again?”

“That was a lot of words, considering you didn't say no,” Lysander said. “Lorcan doesn’t scare me. Last chance, baby Potter. You in or out?”

Lysander drummed the fingers that were wrapped around Albus’s wrist, the pads pressed against his pulse, and cocked an eyebrow. It took less than a second to decide, although Albus still made him wait for a bit longer before he grudgingly nodded. A beat later, and a crack ripped through the air; they vanished in a cacophony of sound, leaving no trace behind except the crisp, golden leaves whirling in their wake.

oOo

“You know, this was pretty much the last thing I expected you to do with a free afternoon.”

The kitchen table was covered in a cream tablecloth, decorated with little flapping cartoon bats. An assortment of pumpkins, ranging from hand-sized to head-sized, covered the table from end to end. Some were stacked on top of each other to make room. There were various carving knives, stencils to pick a design from, and thick black markers for if they wanted to trace something free-hand. 

“Hey, I’m a man of many talents and hobbies,” Lysander said, taking a stand at the head of the table. “If I want to spend my Tuesday carving pumpkins with a friend, then that’s what I’m going to do. Music, or just the dulcet sounds of my voice?”

Albus snorted, shucking his trainers off and joining him at the table. “Definitely music.”

Lysander rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, an amused sound escaping his throat. The radio stuttered to life, cycling slowly through channels until the white noise retreated and the howling bass of _Roots Of Asphodel_ seeped in. Not a bad band, if Albus was honest. He had a couple of their old albums. 

“Mood music’s all set,” Lysander said, tucking his wand behind his ear. “Ready to get messy?”

Blood rushed to Albus’s cheeks. “You’re the worst.”

The Lovegood-Scamander home was entirely empty, apart from them. Albus wondered why Lysander hadn’t just done this at his flat, the one he shared with Lorcan—but then he watched pumpkin seeds and guts spray across the table as Lysander scooped out the innards gleefully, and he didn't need to wonder anymore. Lorcan would have happily taken a carving knife to the both of them if he caught them tainting his tablecloths in such a way. 

“You’re not going to get anything done just by staring at it,” Lysander said, elbow-deep in the biggest pumpkin on the table. “That’s true of most things, by the way, including bedroom stuff, so consider yourself lucky. I usually charge extra for bedroom advice.”

Albus rolled his eyes and dragged the nearest pumpkin towards him. It was fairly big, and faintly yellow in patches. Cutting out the top was somewhat strenuous, and eventually he gave in and used his wand, much to Lysander’s amusement. The scooping was strangely satisfying. He dug at it with a spoon, pulling out seeds and orange gunk and smearing it in a plastic bag set aside for them, although Lysander seemed to have forgotten about the bag. It was almost soothing, in a weird way, and Albus found himself grinning. He barely noticed the music after a while. 

“I can’t believe this, you know,” Lysander said, startling him out of his trance-like state. “Our first date, and you’re not even paying attention to me. My mother always promised me that life would be more romantic than this.”

Albus scooped out a handful of pumpkin guts and held it up in warning. He didn't quite get as far as throwing it, even though the glint in Lysander’s eye was practically a dare. 

“I’d never date anyone who owns trousers like that. Put your back into it, Scamander. You’ve got like, one hundred pumpkins sat around here.”

Lysander pressed four fingertips to his throat, mock-scandalised. “So _bossy.”_

But it wasn’t Albus that was bossy. He was used to Lorcan bossing them all about, ordering them to dress a certain way when they went out, and demanding that they arrive on time, and swearing at them when they forgot to use a coaster. It was pretty much expected at this point. Lysander was supposed to be the indolent, lazy, devil-may-care one out of the two. 

Apparently, carving pumpkins brought out the Lorcan in him. 

He started by taking Albus’s pumpkin away before he could carve it, forcing him to gut another pumpkin instead. Then he slunk behind Albus and carelessly adjusted his grip on the knife, long fingers nudging his into place with a murmured, “Careful, baby Potter. Wouldn’t want you to hurt your wrist.”

Albus swatted him away before his heart could jump out of his throat, and Lysander backed away, laughing quietly. 

“Problem?” 

“Stop calling me that, will you?” Albus bristled. “I’m not the youngest, and you know it.”

“I don't call you baby because you’re the youngest.” Lysander smiled sharply, as if he could sense the way Albus’s heart fluttered. “I call you baby Potter because you’re the smallest one out of your whole damn family. Smallest one in any room, really.”

Albus really did fling pumpkin guts at him then, but by this point Lysander’s shirt was more orange than grey, so it made very little difference. 

Eventually, when all the pumpkins were hollowed out, and the floor was more like a swimming pool than sanded wood, Lysander pushed the first pumpkin towards Albus and handed him the knife. 

“Want to do the honours, sweetheart?”

Albus took the knife, ignoring the pet-name. “Oh, are you actually going to let me carve something now? I thought you brought me here just to be a human ladle.” 

Lysander snorted. It was the first inelegant thing he had done all afternoon, and it made Albus’s chest feel tight and happy. The slight side-glance Lysander sent him was almost sheepish, although it didn't lose its teasing edge. 

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe I get a little uptight over stuff like this. Blame the Scamander genes if you want.”

“Pumpkin stuff, knife stuff, or Halloween stuff?” Albus picked up one of the markers and a stencil, and began carefully tracing a design on the front of the pumpkin. “I’ve never seen you go mad over Halloween before. I didn't think you cared much in school.”

“Yeah.” Lysander picked up one of the smaller pumpkins, turning it over in his hands, something subdued in his voice. “I never realised how much you need to care about things when you’re a Healer. Maybe that sounds stupid, but I thought it might help if I was distant with patients. It doesn’t help, though. You need to care. And I’ve spent most of my life pretending I didn't give a shit about anything, or anyone. Not outwardly, anyway. So I’m starting small.”

Albus put the marker down slowly. He hadn’t expected a deep, profound reason, and maybe this wasn’t one, but it was more open and honest than he ever thought he’d hear from Lysander. Perhaps that was the point. 

“We could always tell, y’know?” Albus bumped his hip against Lysander’s, looking up at him, trying to project something warm that would make that vulnerable look go away. “We could always tell that you cared. You’re not _that_ good of an actor.”

Lysander laughed softly, wrapping an arm around Albus’s shoulders and drawing him closer. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.” His face was burning, but he didn't look away. “Just because you didn't show it, didn't mean we couldn’t see it.”

“Mmm, well.” Lysander’s Cheshire Cat grin softened considerably, settling into something more intimate, more private. “I think I’m still going to do my best to show the people I care about just _how much_ I care about them.”

The implications were a bit much. In a good way, but still overwhelmingly too much. Albus cleared his throat and looked away, red-faced. 

“Good,” he said. “Looking forward to it.”

Lysander laughed behind him. “Good. Now that we’ve got that sorted, I just need to ask—what kind of art lessons did you take as a child? Because that’s either the most unfortunate vampire I’ve ever seen, or the sharpest pair of balls in the world.”

Albus whipped around and shoved him away. “It’s supposed to be a Snitch! You try carving a pumpkin when your mate’s being all mushy in your ear!”

Lysander could hardly take him up on the challenge, however, because he was too busy laughing so hard that fell on his arse, right there on the messy kitchen floor, and as Albus watched him, arms crossed over his chest, he thought he might finally be feeling that warm, autumn feeling that he’d been craving.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I don’t anticipate much interaction because it’s a rare pairing, but I had a lot of fun, and I hope you enjoyed it too! Autumn fluff for the win! <3


End file.
